


Less Than Ideal

by Nerd_of_Camelot



Series: SladeRobin Week 2020 [3]
Category: DCU
Genre: (that tag is only partially sarcastic), Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Brotherly Love, Dick Grayson Has Abandonment Issues, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is a Better Parent Than Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson is a good bro, Dick Grayson-centric, Good Slade Wilson, I did my best, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Political Alliances, Politics, Romani Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson's A+ Parenting, Sort Of, Strangers to Lovers, Weddings, romani people feel free to educate me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27255979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/Nerd_of_Camelot
Summary: Day 3: Arranged Marriage |Bounty on Robin(s)|SlaveryBruce Wayne adored the circus, and Mr. Haly had adored the money he offered in order to have the circus perform in the same place in Gotham once a year.The first year that Dick Grayson was part of the Gotham show was the year that his parents died―Bruce sought him out and adopted him after that.And then somehow, somewhere along the line, after ending up with three little brothers (one of whom was estranged at this stage) and two little sisters (neither of whom lived in the Manor) and having run away upwards of seven times, he―Ugh.He was 25, and here he was starting to make plans to make thateighttimes.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Grant Wilson, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Series: SladeRobin Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964563
Comments: 1
Kudos: 115
Collections: SladeRobin Week 2020





	Less Than Ideal

**Author's Note:**

> So this one's a couple days late, because I had a whole separate idea that I ended up scrapping to re-use later, and then this one got written midway through and after a breakdown and while i couldn't do anything but lay in bed because my back is giving me hell again lol

Dick didn’t consider himself to be a believer in fate _or_ a particularly anti-fate individual―really, the way he saw it, even if there was a sort of train-track that events were taking place on and would always take place on (and he did mean _if)_ , which turns and track-shifts were made would still depend on those driving and riding the train and the terrain and people and things around it.

In his case, the train was co-conducted by himself and his adoptive “father”, Bruce.

Bruce was a strong and steady sort―not the best with affection or… Any emotion, really, that wasn’t anger or pride… But nevertheless the sort of person Dick trusted to help steer his life in the right direction. The man was cold at times, and in the fifteen-odd years that Dick had been in his care (since just after his tenth birthday) he’d never once _told_ Dick he loved or even cared about him, but that meant very little in the face of his clear attempts to do what was best for Dick and get Dick to do the same. Did they fight about it sometimes? Absolutely.

No teenager (and no twenty-five year old, for that matter) wanted someone else making all their decisions for them, and what _Bruce_ thought was best wasn’t always what was best and even less often was it what _Dick_ thought was best.

But it worked.

And so far he’d managed not to crash the train or hit any major roadblocks, so he wasn’t complaining about _that._

He was complaining about…

Ugh, he’d get to that later.

First, though, he needed to try and figure out where in the hell this particular track-shift had been made.

Okay.

So, Bruce Wayne was from old money―his family had more or less been one of the top families in Gotham for _centuries_ and in the last few generations they’d become the most important family on the whole Eastern seaboard due to the creation and startling success of Wayne Enterprises. And that, of course, made Bruce very important and very rich. He had been more or less running Wayne Enterprises since the deaths of his parents… And, essentially, as the only living member of the Wayne family, he was practically running Gotham as well.

This was important to Dick’s story in that Bruce’s importance was why they had met.

Dick Grayson, of the Flying Graysons, was a circus performer at the age of ten, accompanied by his parents. And Haly’s Circus, his home, traveled year-round and performed wherever they pleased…

But Bruce adored the circus, and Mr. Haly adored the money that Bruce offered in exchange for performing at the same place in Gotham at roughly the same time every year.

And that was the first year that Dick was part of the performance.

But, regrettably, it was also the performance that ended in the deaths of his parens and the burning of the circus tent.

Bruce sought him out and adopted him after that.

And then somehow, somewhere along the line, after ending up with three little brothers (one of whom was estranged at this stage) and two little sisters (neither of whom lived in the Manor) and having run away upwards of seven times, he―

Ugh.

He was _25,_ and here he was starting to make plans to make that _eight_ times.

Bruce wasn’t royalty―not exactly. More like a high ranking noble… But the closest thing Gotham came to having a monarch, you know? He’d been in a seat of power his entire life, and Dick was in a similar seat as his oldest son regardless of Damian’s status as the blood son and the heir apparent to the company and the Wayne family. And being in that seat of power (either of them being there) meant that they were always on display, always putting on some sort of show for the masses, and that their lives were very, _very_ good bargaining chips.

Dick was 25, and he had not agreed to his life being used as one.

And yet here he was.

Sitting, back stiff, high in the rafters of one of the ballrooms, hiding from Bruce because… Because Bruce had―

Bruce had _completely_ betrayed him.

He had offered up Dick― _Dick,_ his _oldest son!―_ on a silver platter to one of their less antagonistic political rivals. He’d promised Dick’s _hand in marriage._ To someone that Dick had never met, first off, and someone who by all accounts was not going to get along with Dick at _all._

Slade Wilson.

_Deathstroke._

The mercenary king of Bludhaven.

And Dick wouldn’t lie―he wouldn’t say that, had he just been _consulted,_ he’d have maybe come around to the idea in his own time. He wouldn’t say that he would have ever agreed with Bruce. He wouldn’t say he wouldn’t have told Bruce to take his attempt at a political alliance with Bludhaven and _shove it up his ass._ Because he wouldn’t have accepted it, wouldn’t have come around to the idea, and _definitely would have told Bruce to choke._

Dick…

Didn’t want to get married.

Not just because it was arranged, not just because it was Slade.

He didn’t want to get married _at all._

He had always told himself he was going to wait for the right person, and for the right reasons. He would keep his options open until he found someone he actually clicked with. Someone he could spend the rest of his life with, could work with and grow with. And his parameters for the ‘right person’ had changed as he grew but the point was he _hadn’t found them yet_ and now he _probably never would._ Because now he had to get married to fucking _Slade Wilson._

And, sure, he doubted it was going to be anything more than a political marriage of convenience―Slade would do his thing, Dick would do his… But… Ugh, you know?

He shifted, casting a glance down at one of the many ballroom doors as it creaked open.

If it was Bruce, fuck him.

Dick would be staying _right here,_ where no one else had the skills to reach him.

“D?” Came a rather small voice, and in stepped one of his little brothers―Tim. And he slipped in through just a crack in the door before closing it, looking around the room and _immediately_ casting his gaze into the rafters, “You in here?”

Dick wasn’t surprised he hadn’t seen him―it was darker in here than the hallway outside, with all the lights off and the curtains firmly closed.

And Tim wasn’t who Dick was mad at, not even _remotely,_ so he sighed and answered, “Yeah. You good, little wing?”

Tim vaguely winced, down below him, and politely hauled himself onto one of the old banquet tables up against the wall, a lot closer to Dick than he probably realized. “I don’t think I’m the one who needs to be asked that question,” He said, “I’m not the one Bruce is marrying off to a warlord.”

“I’m not either, if I have anything to say about it.” Dick replied, too quickly and too bitterly, but there was no point in hiding his vitriol from _Tim―_ he would understand. “I’d sooner flee the country altogether.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Said Tim, understandingly, “But I’d miss you.”

“I’d miss you too,” Dick sighed, anger leaving him in a rush at even the _thought_ of being so far from his little brothers.

But then it returned with a vengeance at the realization he’d be living with _Slade_ for the rest of his life and would be pretty fucking far from his brothers _anyway._

And they didn’t talk about it any further―they just sat there until Tim finally got up and left, and Dick remained until long after he was sure no one would be coming to find him. Bruce would have given up the chase for the night at _some point_ even if he _didn’t_ have important shit to be doing tomorrow. Like signing the papers that allowed Dick to be married off.

Bastard.

If burning them would prevent this, Dick would do it in a heartbeat… But regrettably the Manor had more printers than people in it.

He slipped into his room and struggled not to slam the door behind him. The anger was still burning hot and bright in his chest and even if his gut twisted with anxiety at the thought of leaving his brothers behind in order to get away from this… Wasn’t he allowed to be selfish sometimes? Wasn’t he allowed to run off if it meant not being forced into a marriage he was never going to be happy in? A marriage where his only real hope of happiness, only _realistic_ hope of happiness, was _cheating on his husband._

He wasn’t a cheater.

But he _was_ a serial runaway.

He shoved some of his least recognizable clothes into a bag and wrote a note and he was halfway out his window when… When…

Biting down hard on his lip as his eyes filled with tears, he slipped back inside. Dropped the bag. Stood there feeling _pathetic_ as he realized he _couldn’t do it._ For a lot of reasons.

If it wasn’t him, it would be Tim or Damian. At least _he_ was fully grown and ready to be married off. That was more than he could say for seventeen year old Tim or thirteen year old Damian.

And he had a lot of experience in grinning and bearing it.

More than either of them did.

He couldn’t be that far away from them and he couldn’t chance that they’d be offered up as political bargaining chips as well.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and he cried.

“Bruce.”

Dick didn’t usually let his voice get too cold around Bruce, these days, and he tried to at least come off as respectful when they engaged. There had been a time he did more yelling than talking when it came to Bruce, a time when he cursed more than anyone his age should have. And those times were behind him, settled by years of anger management and attempts to set good examples for his brothers… And settled as well, to some extent, by his respect for Bruce.

He was very short on respect, and his patience had worn down paper thin.

And it was clear that Bruce had noticed, if the vague wariness on his face when he turned to face him was anything to go by.

“Dick,” He began, but Dick wasn’t looking to have a conversation.

Not after he sat up all night crying.

Not after Bruce had made a decision about his life without consulting him.

The only one doing any talking right now was going to be him.

“Just.” He said, “Don’t. Don’t say anything. Just listen to me for once.”

Bruce blinked. “I―”

“Bruce.” He stressed, “Don’t. Talk. Just _listen._ ”

When Bruce gave a stiff nod, he took a breath.

“I am.” Another breath. Re-try that. “I am going to do my best to be… Mature about this.” He said, watching Bruce blink, “I will be as _graceful_ as I can. I am fucking _furious_ with you and I am _not_ forgiving you for it any time soon, and as much as you think there isn’t there was _definitely_ another option. We’re well past that at this point and I’m not going to fight, but only, **_only_ ** on the condition that _this_ shit?” He motioned pointedly between them, “Doesn’t happen to the others. _Ever.”_ And with another breath at Bruce’s mildly uncomprehending expression, he continued, “You are marrying me off to the _mercenary king,_ Bruce, and if I find out you’ve married off Jason or Tim or Damian or Cass or Steph, or even _tried_ to marry them off? I _will_ enlist my _charming_ husband-to-be’s assistance in killing you _and_ whoever you tried to give them to.”

Bruce seemed to hesitate a moment, then said, carefully, “I… Suppose that is a reasonable request?”

“It’s not a request.” Dick replied, flatly, and Bruce honest-to-God flinched, “I’m not _asking._ I’m _telling_ you. It’s a fucking _promise.”_

But Bruce merely nodded in reply this time.

“Great.” Dick huffed, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go throw out all my original plans for what my wedding was going to be like and start preparing to be a miserable fucking _trophy_ for the rest of my life.”

He saw Bruce flinch again, but he was already turning to walk away.

He finally met Slade face to face a month later, when Slade arrived to make the official so-called proposal for the rest of the world to see.

Dick’s first thought was that, if nothing else, at least his future husband was handsome.

He stood, back stiff and straight, at Bruce’s side as the man approached, and it was a struggle to keep his face impassive rather than annoyed or dismayed. He still hated this. He’d come to terms with it but that didn’t mean he didn’t _hate_ it. He didn’t even want to have to _talk_ to Slade after the official proposal, but he’d be expected to spend the _whole_ rest of the evening at Slade’s side for the engagement party.

“Slade,” Greeted Bruce.

“Bruce,” Slade said in turn, then, to Dick, “My prince.”

Dick sucked up his pride and gave a respectful bow, “Your Majesty.”

Slade extended a hand, and Dick tried not to wrinkle his nose as he settled his hand into Slade’s and let the man kiss his ring finger, right where the ring that would state he was off the table was going to be sitting for the rest of his miserable life.

Slade stepped back, and the onlookers all fell silent at this moment.

“On to the task at hand,” He said.

Bruce nodded, making the announcement to all the guests―in the crowd Dick saw Jason, and he looked like he’d been chewing glass. He looked livid.

“―may take your hand in marriage.” Slade’s proposal was over, and Dick hadn’t heard a word of it.

But he knew what he was supposed to say as he gazed at the king before him.

“It would be my honor.”

And the ring slid onto his finger―silver, with a beautifully carved sapphire set in the center and several glimmering diamonds (or cubic zirconia, who knew) set around it. At least it, like his husband-to-be, was pretty. He admired it a moment, even as Slade took his hand and a cheer went up in the room.

Cameras flashed, and Dick waited until they had begun flashing at other things and people to turn his gaze on Bruce and give him the most baleful and unhappy look he could summon.

Turning his gaze away once more, out toward the crowd, he nearly flushed at the realization that Slade had caught him giving Bruce that look. He refrained from reacting in anyway, and allowed Slade to lead him to the table the would be occupying for, pretty much, the rest of the night.

“I take it,” Slade began, after they were seated, “You are unhappy with this arrangement?”

And, sure, maybe Dick should play nice and pretend he really was _honored_ to be marrying the mercenary king of Bludhaven… But he saw very little point. So he simply kept his eyes forward and replied, bitterly, “A choice in the matter might have been nice.”

And Slade nodded as if that made perfect sense to him, not at all offended and not at all bothered. His grey eyes bored a hole into Dick’s cheek, nonetheless.

“I admit I was unaware you weren’t given one,” He said.

“It’s what’s best for my country.” Dick shrugged, “Bruce will do what must be done. Even if it means dooming me to a marriage I’m likely to hate being a part of without even letting me have a say in the matter.” He paused, glancing at Slade, “No offense to you.”

“I understand the sentiment,” Slade assured him, lips quirking up, “If nothing else, perhaps we can make the most of it. I wasn’t exactly looking to get married, and you clearly weren’t either.”

“... Make it a partnership.”

“Precisely.”

Hm.

Maybe Dick could get along with him, if nothing else. And a partnership was… Better than nothing.

And again… At least his husband-to-be was handsome.

“I hope you at least like the ring,” Slade said after a moment, lips and brows quirked in amusement.

A little caught off guard, Dick laughed and threw a glance at it, “I do, actually,” He assured him, “It’s beautiful. At least this has _that_ going for it so far―the ring and the husband I didn’t get to chose are pretty.”

Slade laughed outright.

Yeah.

They were probably going to get along, if nothing else.

“You’re letting him use you like a fucking _pawn―”_

Under normal circumstances, Dick would not mind letting Jason keep yelling.

This was the first time they’d spoken in nearly a year, and Dick was usually glad to let Jason say what he felt he needed to say. It meant he kept talking, and letting him keep talking meant he eventually calmed down and they were able to just sort of hang out… But this was a different situation than most.

Though the engagement party had gone well, and Slade turned out to be someone he could at the very least get along with, he was still _extremely_ unhappy with the whole arrangement. He hadn’t actually even spoken to Bruce since he told him he’d kill him if he did this to the others. Not even at family dinners.

“I’m not _letting_ him do anything.” Dick snapped, and Jason’s eyes went wide and he went _silent,_ “I didn’t get a _choice,_ Jay, but if it has to be anyone it may as well be me.”

“You― Of course you had a choice!”

And Dick knew what he meant, because Jason knew as well as Dick and Bruce did how many times a teenaged Dick had just taken off when he felt slighted.

“Running away wouldn’t solve anything,” He huffed, “No matter how much I want it to. And having Bludhaven on our side keeps Luthor a few steps behind us, which keeps us further from war, and marrying Slade keeps any of _you_ from getting thrown into the same situation.”

“Like I’d let Bruce―”

“You may not live here, but he still has the legal ability to do whatever he wants.” He sighed, “Jay, just… If you’re going to be angry, be angry at Bruce and not me. And don’t try to be angry on my behalf, I’m livid enough as it is.”

Jason stared at him a moment, still sort of taken aback and maybe even still angry, but ultimately he sighed. Nodded weakly and looked away, and he looked so _young_ all of a sudden and… Ugh.

“I just. Hate seeing this happen.” He finally uttered, “I don’t…”

“I know,” Sighed Dick, and Jason didn’t so much as try to protest when he opened his arms for a hug.

He just surged forward and hugged him.

And Dick wrapped his arms around him, reminded very suddenly of how much taller and broader Jason was, and they didn’t really do any more talking. They just stood and held each other, and Dick thought it may be the most understanding they’d had since Jay was twelve and saw Dick and Bruce fighting for the first time.

“Sorry,” Jason uttered, finally, against his hair, “I’m just… I’m so used to you just going along with what he says without complaint so you don’t cause problems.”

“There were definitely complaints,” Dick assured him, but he still chuckled a little at the admission―Jason saw right through him, of course. Jason knew the truth, even without being told. “I may have threatened to kill him? But that was less about me and more about you guys. I also may have told him after that that I was going to ‘go throw out my original wedding plans and start preparing to be a miserable fucking trophy for the rest of my life’.”

Jason muffled a laugh, nearly snorting.

Dick let himself smile.

“... Is it true,” Damian asked, very quietly, from where his head laid on Dick’s chest as they watched some mindless movie or another, and Dick prepared himself for what would potentially be a very draining question, “That father…” But Damian hesitated.

And Damian didn’t hesitate about anything unless he was unsettled or scared.

Dick squeezed him a little without thinking. He had his suspicions about what Damian was trying to ask―didn’t want to assume, of course, but had suspicions. And it would make sense for Damian to be asking _now,_ when Dick would be going to Bludhaven next week to become acquainted with the city he’d be spending most of the rest of his life in after the wedding.

And then, of all the reactions to the squeeze, he got a _sniffle._

He clenched his jaw to avoid getting angry and remained still.

“What’s up, Dames?” He mumbled, after another moment.

“... Is it true you weren’t given a choice about this marriage?”

He hated being right.

“I don’t think you want the answer to that, little D.”

Damian tensed a little, squeezing him. And he _sniffled again,_ turning his face into Dick’s shoulder.

“You are angry about this?” He asked, and it sounded like he was trying to reassure himself by asking.

“Livid,” Dick confirmed, rubbing his back.

And Damian shook anyway.

“Good,” He finally uttered, voice a little choked, “Good.”

“I’m doing it for you and the others,” He mumbled in return, turning his head to press his cheek into Damian’s hair and kiss the top of his head, “I’ll kill Bruce if he does this to you. Ever. Okay?”

Damian sniffed, nodded into his shoulder, and squeezed him. And Dick squeezed back.

“Welcome, my prince,” Slade’s tone was half-amused, almost as if he was joking as he offered a hand and helped Dick out of the car, “I hope the trip wasn’t too uncomfortable.”

“It was fine, thank you.”

Because, really, it had been.

Fine, that was.

Not great, not uncomfortable, just fine. It had been three hours in a car alone with Bruce, who was silent and thankfully did not try to talk to him at all. He had sent him a few looks, sure, as if trying for the millionth time to make Dick understand without words, but that was the thing―Dick  _ did _ understand. He understood completely. But that didn’t make it okay, and he wasn’t going to be the one to bridge the gap between them this time. This was Bruce’s mistake, and Dick was tired of always being the one who tried to make nice after Bruce fucked up.

And Bruce and Slade sort of spent a moment or two making nice, doing the typical political thing and looking like good allies for the cameras, and then Slade was taking Dick’s hand again and sweeping him off into the Manor.

It was somewhat comforting to know that despite Slade’s title as “Mercenary King” and all the associated political titles and pomp that were expected that he didn’t live in a castle―in fact, his manor was almost more modest than even Bruce’s.

“You didn’t even look at him,” Slade said, a laugh in his voice, “The silent treatment is hardly the reaction I would expect from you with the stories I’ve been told.”

Dick flushed at that particular bit―it didn’t surprise him that stories about him had reached Slade’s ears, but it was still embarrassing to know that Slade  _ probably _ knew the story of the time he ran away and only came back because someone had shot him in the shoulder and the hospital had sent him straight back to Bruce. Or… Any of his other runaway stories.

“I’m generally more vocal,” He decided to say, “But this isn’t something I’m just going to roll over for. I’ve made my feelings known and I won’t be speaking to him again until he decides to finally be the one who tries to fix things after he fucks up.”

“An admirable quality,” Slade hummed, “And only more proof we’ll be able to make this work… Even if just as a partnership.”

“At least being able to make it work as a partnership will make it tolerable,” Snorted Dick, and Slade laughed as well.

And Dick found himself falling silent as they entered a sitting room and he saw…

A child.

A young boy, probably no older than ten or eleven, sitting on the couch. He looked a lot like Slade―same grey eyes, if nothing else, and a similar face shape. His son?

The boy looked at them when Slade’s laugh reached his ears, curious and wary all at once. His eyes bored into Dick and Dick… Well, he had plenty of experience with wary and curious kids. And kids who looked like they could see right into your soul. Cass and Dames had those kind of eyes.

So he just met the gaze, smiled kindly, and glanced to Slade.

Slade was watching his face and the boy’s intermittently, squinting vaguely and looking a little wary himself.

Finally, he said, “Grant, this is Prince Richard. Dick… My son, Grant.”

Grant still seemed hesitant even as he stood up from the couch and said, “Hello,”

“Hello,” Dick said in return, calm and patient in a way he never could manage with most adults.

Or anyone over the age of, say, seventeen, for that matter.

“... So you’re the one papa’s marrying?”

“That would be me, yeah.”

“Do you love him?”

Ah, the question Dick hadn’t anticipated and yet still had a healthy helping of dread at hearing. He didn’t want to answer it honestly, but what was the point in lying?

“I really don’t know yet,” He decided to say, “I’ve only met him once before now.”

And Grant nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Will that make you my other dad?”

“Legally, yeah. And if you want me to be it won’t just be legal.”

“I dunno yet,” The kid admitted after a moment of consideration, but he  _ did  _ seem somehow less wary now.

“That’s okay. We’ve got time to figure it out.”

“And you’ve got time to figure out if you love papa.” Grant agreed.

“Exactly. No need to rush into it.”

Grant extended his hand, then, and Dick shook it, and then Grant looked at Slade and only after Slade gave a half-smile and nodded to him did he return to the couch and his TV show. And they went to the other couch―one right up against a window, and they sat down together but… Not too close. Just enough to be comfortable while also providing a nice angle for pictures for the paparazzi still lingering outside and sure to be watching the windows.

Sure enough, within moments of sitting down there were flashing lights.

Dick struggled not to roll his eyes.

“You’re rather good with kids,” Slade said, sounding almost surprised, “I’m not sure what I expected.”

“Bruce isn’t a terribly hands-on father,” Dick shrugged, smiling nonetheless, “And I’m a lot closer in age to Tim and Jason and Steph than he is, so I was usually the one helping them out and dealing with them. And since Damian and Cass came during very busy times I was usually on watch-duty since I was older and had more free time.”

“So many siblings,” Slade sighed, “For a man who isn’t terribly hands-on as a father he certainly takes in a large amount of wards.”

“He wants to help in any way he can and keep his people safe, but he’s so emotionally constipated he can’t even tell his own  _ flesh and blood son _ that he cares about him.” He did roll his eyes this time, “He’s hopeless.” He threw a glance at Grant, “I… Didn’t know you had a kid.”

“It’s not terribly common knowledge outside of Bludhaven.” Slade glanced toward his son as well, “I try to keep him safe. I… Think you’ll do well together. He already seems to like you.”

“He’s not much older than Damian… Seems to have a similar temperament. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before, and nothing I’m terribly intimidated by. I can make it work.”

“I’m sure you can.” And he wasn’t sure, but he thought Slade might seem a little fond.

He could work with that, too.

“You look rather dashing in white,” Slade uttered, softly, as Dick tried not to fidget.

Months had gone by in a flash, the wedding was only weeks away. Dick was… Well, he was  _ trying _ to get a feel for what he was going to wear. He should have picked it out  _ months _ ago, but…

He’d been trying to keep it until later. As late as possible.

Buying the wedding clothes made it official, you know?

As if the ring and all the wedding planning of the last year hadn’t already done that.

“Thanks,” He managed, finally letting himself fidget a little as he examined himself in the mirrors, turning this way and that.

It was a good choice, but not quite what he wanted. It was too… Traditional. Very much a suit, and call him prissy but he didn’t want to wear an outright  _ suit _ at his wedding. He wanted something… Nice, but comfortable. Something he would feel good wearing, since it would be one of few things he would be genuinely happy about at the wedding in that case.

He liked Slade plenty, but he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to  _ marry _ the guy.

If only he’d had a choice he might be a little more interested.

“You look like you’ve bitten a lemon.” Slade sounded amused.

“I think I may have finally slipped into bridezilla mode,” Dick joked dryly, “It’s…” He made an annoyed noise.

But Slade didn’t look like he was judging at all―he just looked amused and understanding.

“By all means, keep looking. It is  _ your _ wedding. Whatever you want to wear is fine with me… With a few exceptions.”

Dick snorted at that, squinting at a couple of other items, “Which are?”

“Well, I do insist that you try to remain modest,” That was clearly a joke, “And I don’t think any color but white will look good to the press.”

He snorted again and grabbed something slightly more his style off one of the racks on his way back to the changing room.

… Much better.

_ Much _ better.

He examined himself in the changing room mirror a moment before re-emerging, and he watched Slade blink in surprise, then tilt his head in clear interest. And what could Dick say? It felt a lot more like something his father would have worn, and that made Dick a  _ lot _ more comfortable.

It was still a suit, more or less, but it was more like a tunic with pants, embroidered with red and gold, and he was honestly surprised he’d seen it just  _ sitting _ on one of the racks. It looked like a specialty order, especially in a place like this. There weren’t many places that just  _ made _ clothes this close to his parents’ culture without being asked to in these parts.

“You…” Slade began, “Look much more comfortable in that one.”

“I feel more comfortable in this one,” Dick glanced at him, “Reminds me of my parents.”

“If that’s what you want,” Slade began.

“Something like this, at least.” Dick glanced back at the mirrors, “... Unless you don’t mind the extra colors.”

“I think only the paparazzi will care.” Slade admitting, “It suits you, as far as I’m concerned.”

And Dick felt himself smile a little.

Sure, he and Slade had been partners for a while, had been making their relationship work by just agreeing to work together, but… Slade thinking it suited him, Slade being supportive… It was a lot. And…

He was really,  _ really _ enjoying it.

Dick had always thought he would cry at his wedding, no matter who he was getting married to. He always thought he would be too emotionally overwhelmed to do anything else―that he wouldn’t be able to hold the tears back.

He’d started to think he wouldn’t be near invested enough for it, after he found out he was getting married off to a king he’d never met.

… And yet.

And yet, as soon as the words, “I do,” left his mouth, he felt himself tear up.

It wasn’t from anger, or helplessness, as he’d started to expect it might be if he  _ did _ cry at this wedding. It was from something he couldn’t name. A feeling he wasn’t sure was positive and wasn’t sure was negative. Something nameless and overwhelming as could be.

“I now pronounce you to be wedded,” Said the priest, “You may kiss the groom.”

And he leaned in so Slade could kiss him, and it was the first time they’d done more than peck each other on the cheek or the hand, and it was just as overwhelming as the rest of it. But he held back the tears the best he could, kissing Slade back carefully and parting from him with a lump in his throat.

“I present to you,” The priest declared, “His Royal Majesty, King Slade, and His Royal Highness, Prince Richard Grayson. Hail.”

A cheer went up.

Slade took his hand and they walked back up the aisle together.

The ride to the reception hall was quiet, and Dick spent the time composing himself and blinking away the tears.

“Feeling alright?” Slade asked, quietly.

“Overwhelmed,” Dick admitted, “But I’ll be fine.”

Slade nodded.

They exited the car arm in arm.

And Dick smiled and played nice with everyone all night, even Bruce.

But then he and Slade returned to the manor, and…

Well.

There were some traditions that Dick wasn’t eager to throw out, and Slade was attractive, and…

Hell with it.

“Slade,” He said, as they paused in the hall outside their rooms―Slade’s on the left, Dick’s on the right, because they were  _ married _ but that didn’t necessarily mean they had to share a bed.

Slade glanced at him.

“... I…” He swallowed, “It’d be a shame to waste our wedding night, huh?”

Slade’s lips quirked up, and it didn’t take any more convincing than that for Slade to hoist him into his arms and take him into his room.

“So if you just…” Dick was midway through explaining to Grant how to properly do a handstand, complete with demonstration, when the doors to the private sitting room (far from the front windows of the manor where the paparazzi liked to linger) swung open.

Grant tumbled out of his rather unsteady handstand, and it was only Dick’s reflexes that kept him from hitting his head, as Dick swiftly rolled out of his handstand and caught the poor kid. Their eyes went to the door at the same time, finding Slade and Bruce and all of Dick’s brothers standing there. They shared a look.

“Hi?” They said, as one, and that was all it took for Grant to descend into giggles there in Dick’s arms.

Slade’s lips quirked up, and even Bruce and his brothers looked a little charmed.

“We thought Grant ought to get acquainted with his uncles,” Slade said, eyes soft, “If he’s amenable, of course.”

Grant glanced up at Dick. Dick raised his brows.

“Okay,” Said Grant, getting up, “Sure, sounds like a blast.”

Dick got up as well, having  _ just  _ enough grace (seeing as he was a king and not just a prince by technicality now) to brush himself off and actually stand up straight. Grant had none of that, and he didn’t expect him to.

“Be nice,” Dick said, warningly, to his brothers as he stepped into Slade’s offered arm and settled against his side, “I know you three.”

Jason and Tim had the audacity to grin at him innocently, but Damian had the grace to say, “Nice is not one of my strong suits. I’ll make an attempt,”

“Good enough for me, Dames.” He said, but still shot the other two a look that made them laugh.

And off the four of them swept, leaving Slade, Dick, and Bruce alone.

“I give it two minutes before Grant punches Jason in the throat,” Dick said, as soon as the boys were out of earshot.

“Two minutes?” Slade raised a brow, glancing down at him, “That’s generous.”

“Two minutes maximum,” Dick specified, which made Slade chuckle.

He leaned down to kiss the top of Dick’s head, and Dick smiled and leaned into it. Had he caught feelings at some point? Apparently. And that was fine―he was totally on board with that.

It was better than a loveless marriage founded entirely on a treaty and the agreement to try and make it work as a partnership.

It also meant that Dick’s room was really more of an office and gym for him to hang out in when he had nothing better to be doing, since he slept in Slade’s bed most nights anyway ever since his coronation eight months ago, a week after their wedding.

Bruce gave them a wary, but pleased, look out of the corner of his eye, still watching down the hall.

And then, there it was―a choked yelp and the laughter of Tim from the other sitting room.

“Minute and a half,” Dick announced, “He lasted longer than I expected.”

“I’ll go check on them,” Slade chuckled, pulling away, and then he was off down the hall.

Dick watched with a vague sort of fondness, and he wasn’t quite sure where it came from or why. Maybe he just actually loved his husband that much.

“... You make a good father,” Bruce said, once he was gone, “I… Always suspected you might, but I was never sure.”

“Well now you know,” Dick glanced at him, letting himself smile, “But thank you. I’m… Certainly trying.”

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Bruce asked, after another moment, “I… Know I still shouldn’t have done it. But it wasn’t… Horrific?”

Hey, he was making an attempt.

This was the best that Dick would get out of him at this stage, especially since Bruce had already apologized a year ago and had been trying to build their relationship back up. He was trying. Trying to lighten the mood.

“No,” He chose to say, “It wasn’t awful, in the end. I’m certainly not going to be as miserable as I expected.”

He didn’t tell Bruce what they both knew―Bruce had done a fine job of outlining that particular bit on his own. It shouldn’t have happened, at least not without Dick’s prior agreement. There should have been so much else done.

But it hadn’t been horrible.

And, in fact? Dick was kind of looking forward to where things would go now.

He had a husband, he had a son…

Things were looking good.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never, ever in my life written for Grant and it probably shows lol  
> I decided to give it a go in this because it just made sense and it also lets me play around with ages and relationship dynamics  
> Might end up doing more with this AU at some point? Not entirely sure.


End file.
